


A Fatal Secret

by Cicerothewriter



Category: Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: Angst, M/M, Murder, Mystery, Pre-Slash, Slash, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicerothewriter/pseuds/Cicerothewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poirot is hired to investigate whether a beautiful widow is being poisoned.  While assisting his friend, Hastings must deal with his own emotions of jealousy and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fatal Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Series: This story is in the same universe as my other Poirot stories. Set after _The ABC Murders_ and before "When There is Peace."
> 
> Note: My second attempt at a proper murder mystery.  
> Note 2: Inspired by "The Cornish Mystery." Further explanation would spoil the plot.

I was attempting to prepare a cup of tea for myself when the doorbell rang. Ms. Lemon answered it, and after a moment's conversation she let in an absolute corker of a woman. Tall and blonde, she moved with an elegance that I found both fascinating and unsettling. She was obviously someone who was used to getting her own way.

I abandoned my tea, making sure this time to turn off the burner, and hurried into the sitting room. Poirot was standing to greet her, and I stopped for a moment, not liking the look in his eyes.

"Monsieur Hercule Poirot?" she said, her voice like hot honey dripping from a comb.

" _Oui_ , Madame. I am Hercule Poirot, and this is my associate, Captain Hastings."

Poirot gestured elegantly in my direction. I smiled at her, but she gave me a dismissive look and turned back to Poirot. I looked at Poirot in disgruntlement, but he merely smiled and asked if she would like to sit.

"Thank you, Monsieur Poirot. My name is Josephine Barker. Perhaps you know one of my friends, Mrs. Parrington-Parsons? You cleared her son's name when he was accused of murder."

Poirot nodded. "I remember her well. She was a dear lady."

I did not remember at all, and Poirot said, "You were away in the Argentine during this case, Hastings."

"Ah," I said. I was curious about the case, but I would have to wait until Mrs. Barker left before I asked.

"I was hoping that you could help me in a similar fashion," she said. "I believe that my future son-in-law, Andrew Collins, is trying to murder me."

"What makes you suspect such a thing, madame?"

"He has lost a lot of money gambling, Monsieur Poirot. I believe," and here she paused dramatically, "that he has been stepping out with other women."

" _Pardon_? 'Stepping out with'?" Poirot asked.

"She means that he is courting other women," I said.

"Ah, yes, how do you say, 'two-timing' her," Poirot said, nodding. "Why should he wish to kill you, madame?"

"My husband left me a rather large sum of money when he died, and it will all go to my daughter after my death. Although he is engaged to my daughter, he has tried to seduce me."

"The cad," I exclaimed, shocked by her words.

"I refused, of course," she said.

"Of course," Poirot replied, although I could tell from his voice that he was not entirely convinced.

"He became angry and threatened me. I thought he was just blustering and trying to scare me, but since our argument I have been feeling ill, and it always happens on the nights when he comes to visit my daughter."

"Indeed?" Poirot said. "That is certainly suspicious." Poirot thought for a moment while Mrs. Barker and I waited for his response. "I should like to see this young man for myself, but not in a way that would make him suspicious. Perhaps you know of such a way?"

"I shall be hosting a party tomorrow night. I can say that you are a friend of a friend."

" _Bon_ , madame! Captain Hastings and I shall be there."

Mrs. Barker looked for a moment as if she would rather I not appear, but she then nodded her head. Out of her purse she drew an envelope, and said, "Here are the details. Thank you for coming to my aid."

"You are most welcome, Mrs. Barker," Poirot replied. We both stood as she stood, and Poirot bent over her hand and kissed it. I thought it highly inappropriate and almost bristled when she gave him a pleased look. I simply shook her hand in a business-like manner, and said, "Good day, Mrs. Barker."

After she left, I turned to Poirot and said, "What do you make of all this?"

"She is a very attractive lady, would you not agree, Hastings?" Poirot said, amused.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, and said, "Well you seemed taken with her." My voice displayed a bit more jealousy than I was comfortable with, but I could not take back my words.

"You do not think so, my friend?"

"She seemed like a woman who always gets her own way."

Poirot looked at me with pride, and said, "Good. You have not let her beauty blind you to her faults. She is persistent… and vindictive."

"Because she wishes to get revenge on her daughter's fiancé?" I asked.

" _Mais oui_ , but also the way she spoke about her daughter. I shall wait to judge, Hastings, but I think perhaps that she has a tempestuous relationship with her daughter."

"How do you know?" I asked, intrigued.

"Instinct," Poirot replied. "Now, Hastings, will you do me the honor of accompanying me tomorrow night to Mrs. Barker's party?"

I nearly blushed at his words. "Of course, although I don't think she wants me there."

" _D'accord_. You will be able to protect me from _la femme fatale_." Poirot laughed, and I looked at him without amusement.

"Really, Poirot," I said, and with an attempt to maintain my dignity I returned to the kitchen and my interrupted tea.

 

The next evening, I drove Poirot and myself to Mrs. Barker's address. She lived in a fashionable flat in Kensington, which she later explained to Poirot was where she stayed when she was in London. Her late husband's estate was in Hampshire.

Mrs. Barker introduced us to the other attendees. Mrs. Barker's daughter, Sarah, was pleasant but of a nervous disposition. She was unlike her mother in both appearance and attitude. Her eyes were a watery grey, her face round, and hair a mousy brown. She was slim enough but without the slender grace of her mother.

Sarah Barker's fiancé, Andrew Collins, on the other hand, was as close to a demigod as one might find on this earth. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, tall and robust, he reminded me of an athlete or an actor. He was also charming, and I found myself engaged in a vigorous conversation about the next Grand National. He was not my type per se, but he was handsome, and I felt it could only be good for the case if I were to learn more about him.

As we were talking, I glanced around for Poirot. He was talking to Sarah Barker, and seemed displeased by something. He glanced back at me, and I sensed that he wished to talk with me. I excused myself, and went to him.

"What do you think of Monsieur Collins, Hastings?" Poirot asked, and I could see that his displeasure was directed at me, although I had little idea what I had done to upset him.

"Friendly enough chap," I said. "He knows a lot about cars."

"That is because there is not much to know."

"Steady on," I said, a bit hurt by his words.

"Remember, Hastings, that he is a suspect." With this last severe comment, Poirot then introduced me to Sarah Barker, who had returned with drinks for us both.

"I was just having a chat with your fiancé, Ms. Barker," I said pleasantly, not caring if my words irritated Poirot further.

I could see some emotions flicker in her eyes before she replied, "Oh yes? He is adorable, is he not?"

"Well, not the words I would use."

She laughed, "Of course not."

Poirot merely looked at me in the same way he would look at a crooked tie which he could not straighten immediately.

 

When we returned to Poirot's flat, Poirot went to his desk and sorted through his correspondence. I stood with my hands in my pockets and watched my friend's nervous, yet still elegant movements.

"Poirot?" I said finally.

"Yes, _mon ami_?" he asked, not looking up from the letter he was reading.

I stood in puzzled silence for a moment. "What have I done wrong?" I finally asked, feeling a bit helpless.

Poirot sighed and looked up, his pince-nez still affixed to his nose. "Nothing," he replied softly.

I looked down at the carpet, well aware that if he were not going to tell me now, he would not tell me until he was ready. "Good night, Poirot," I said softly, retreating to my bedroom.

I heard him murmur good night as I left.

 

We were at breakfast the next morning when Inspector Japp arrived. Poirot was silent for the most part, and I filled that silence with nervous talk. I was relieved when Ms. Lemon let Japp in, although his presence did not bode well.

Japp did not mince words. "Poirot, are you acquainted with Mrs. Josephine Barker?"

" _Oui_ ," Poirot said, his expression concerned.

"She died this morning. The doctor is looking at her now."

"She suspected her daughter's fiancé of poisoning her," Poirot said.

"Oh yes?" Japp said thoughtfully.

I nodded, and added, "Mrs. Barker said that he tried to seduce her. When she refused him, he threatened her."

"The doctor will be able to tell us soon enough it is was poison. I told my men to leave everything as it was."

 

Poirot and I accompanied Japp to Mrs. Barker's flat. She was lying in the dining room, having apparently fallen from her chair. Poirot inspected her, then sniffed the tea she had been drinking.

"Forensics have taken samples from her meal," Japp said. "They'll be tested for poison."

Poirot nodded. "Who was dining with her?"

"There were three others. Sarah Barker was seated on Josephine Barker's right. Andrew Collins was next to his fiancée. Judy Morgenstar was on Mrs. Barker's left. I was just about to interview them, if you would like to be present."

"Thank you, Chief Inspector."

 

Sarah Barker had been crying, but she composed herself in order to speak with us. Poirot sat down in the chair next to Ms. Barker.

"Mademoiselle," Poirot said gently, "I am most sorry to hear about your mother."

I could see that his manner put her at ease. She sniffled into her handkerchief, and said, "Thank you, Mr. Poirot."

"If you could just tell us what happened?"

"Mother said that you were here last night to meet my fiancé."

"Yes, I was here because of a concern which your mother possessed."

She nodded. "Mother was imagining things, Mr. Poirot. Andrew wouldn't harm a fly."

Poirot said nothing in response. Instead he asked, "What happened this morning, mademoiselle?"

"We were eating breakfast," she replied, her eyes filling with tears again. "Mother began to complain about stomach cramps. I asked her if she wished to lay down. She tried to stand, but then she started to hug her stomach. She tried to say something, but then she collapsed. We sent for the doctor, but she…"

Ms. Barker began to sob uncontrollably.

 

Andrew Collins confirmed Ms. Barker's story, but added some intriguing details.

"She pointed at Sarah and me, Mr. Poirot," Collins said.

Poirot's head tilted to the side ever so slightly at this information. "Did she say anything?"

"She did. She said, 'You!' before she collapsed."

"Do you know what she meant by that?" Poirot asked.

Collins shook his head. "No. She liked to accuse people, though. She was often rambling on about conspiracies and such. She was convinced that the maids were stealing her perfume and that the butler was in the pantry at all hours. She was very convinced that Sarah was stealing her jewelry."

Poirot said, "And was she?"

"Sarah? No, good heavens no. Sarah isn't the sort who steals."

 

After Collins left the room, Japp said, "Earlier you said Mrs. Barker thought Andrew Collins was poisoning her?"

" _Oui_ ," Poirot replied. "Mrs. Barker said that she would feel ill after each of Monsieur Collins' visits to her daughter."

"I wonder who else she told about her suspicions," Japp said. He thought for a moment, and then continued, "Perhaps Collins discovered why you were at the party, panicked, and poisoned Mrs. Barker."

Poirot raised his hand slightly, and said, "You base these assumptions on the unproved accusation of the dead woman, Chief Inspector."

"So you think Mrs. Barker was lying?" I asked.

"Not necessarily, _mon ami_. I think perhaps it best to wait until we have more information about her meal."

Japp nodded, and said, "We should hear back from forensics this afternoon."

 

We put questions to the other guest, Mrs. Morgenstar, and to the staff, but learned little more than we already knew. The staff all agreed that Mrs. Barker often accused others of stealing, and it was rare for her to keep servants for more than a year, her butler being one of the few exceptions. They all felt very sorry for Ms. Barker, whom they regarded as an injured party.

"They are hiding something, Hastings," Poirot said. We were seated in a small restaurant a few blocks away from Mrs. Barker's flat.

"The servants, you mean?" I asked after I had selected a cake from the tray.

"I do, indeed," he replied, ignoring the tray. "Perhaps not about the murder itself, but something related to their mistress."

Japp returned toward the end of tea, and sat down at our invitation. He said, "It was foxglove in the food… all the food on her plate."

"But she ate what everyone else had eaten," I said, confounded by this new development. Poirot's glance was admiring, and I was proud that I remembered this fact.

"Then, _mes ames_ , we are looking for a suspect who had access to the dishes which had already been laid out. This would have ensured that the wrong person would not be poisoned."

"That certainly does narrow down the suspects," Japp replied.

"Inspector, did your men find any foxglove plants in Mrs. Barker's flat?" I asked.

"No, they didn't, but I'll have them search again. I'll also ask to search Andrew Collins' flat, although I'm sure he'll have dumped the stuff by now, if he did it."

 

Upon our return to Mrs. Barker's flat, we found out otherwise.

"Ms. Barker, if you please, could you tell us who came down to breakfast first?"

Ms. Barker thought for a few moments, and then said, "I believe that Andrew and I came downstairs to breakfast first, and then Judy. Mother was late. She was always the last one to breakfast."

"And did you see any servants in the breakfast room when you came down?"

"No… well, the butler was there, but he was in and out of the room getting dishes and such."

Poirot looked worried about something. He asked, "Did you leave at any time before your mother entered the room?"

"I left Andrew alone for a few moments while I went to check my hair in the hall mirror. Mother didn't like messy hair on a woman."

"I see," Poirot said. I could hardly see at all, and I said as much when we were alone in the room.

"The godlike Monsieur Collins had ample time to poison the food, as did Mademoiselle Barker, the butler, the cook, and Mrs. Morgenstar. We are no closer to the solution."

I waited patiently as Poirot remained deep in thought. Poirot asked for the butler to be summoned, and when he arrived, Poirot asked, "Did your mistress make any unusual purchases recently?"

"Unusual, sir? How do you mean?"

"Did she make any purchases which she had never made before or which she kept secret?"

The butler considered the question, and then said, "If she had kept it secret, sir, how would I know about it?"

Poirot smiled and nodded, as if to concede the point. "That is so. However, an excellent butler knows what goes on in his household, and you monsieur, are an excellent butler."

The butler hesitated, and I was uncertain whether Poirot knew something or was simply toying with the man. Eventually the butler said, "Mrs. Barker was particularly pleased about something last night. I was doing my rounds, sir, checking the windows and such, and saw madam with a potted plant."

The three of us perked up at his words, and Poirot asked, "What sort of plant?"

"I do not know the name, sir, but it was a single stalk with purple flowers that cascaded downward."

"Do you know what happened to this plant?" Japp asked.

"No, sir."

"Thank you," Poirot said. The butler bowed and left the room.

"She purchased the foxglove?" I asked, looking at Poirot.

"Why would she do that?" Japp asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

"I do not know," Poirot replied, his mouth curved into a delicate frown.

 

Japp had his men search the entire house, but they found nothing of value to the case. Collins' flat was searched as well, but likewise nothing was found. Both Mr. Collins and Ms. Barker said that they knew nothing about the plant. Inspector Japp decided to have one of his men watch the flat and another watch Mr. Collins, but for now we were at an impasse.

 

For dinner that night, Poirot made a sumptuous dinner of something called Vaterzoy with glazed zucchini and almond tarts to finish. Poirot was an excellent cook, and I always felt fortunate when he went to such lengths on my behalf.

After we had settled down to coffee and a game of chess, our attention returned to the case.

"Hastings," Poirot asked, "why do you think Mrs. Barker purchased the foxglove?"

I thought for a few moments, then said, "Perhaps she liked the color?"

Poirot sighed, and shook his head. I could tell that he thought little of my answer, and so I tried again. "She needn't have purchased it at all. Maybe she was tricked? Collins could have given it to her as a gift, and she accepted it, not knowing that it was poisonous."

I was pleased that Poirot seemed to consider my answer. He murmured, "Tricked? Perhaps." He considered the matter a moment longer, then said, "But why, Hastings? What would be the purpose of giving such a gift?"

"Well… so that it would be found in her possession. The police might consider it suicide when it was found in her bedroom."

"But it was not discovered in her bedroom nor anywhere else in the house."

I sighed, and then shrugged. Poirot shook his head, and said, "Your idea is a good one, Hastings, if only the police had discovered the plant in her possession."

I felt a bit cheered by his words, pleased that he had not outright rejected my theory.

Our night continued pleasantly but for a barely visible tension – at least on my behalf. Since returning from the Argentine, my desire for my friend had become almost unbearable. I wished for either his love or a resolution to my feelings. Sometimes I would feel quite lonely in his presence, but other times – like tonight – I could imagine that this would be our life for the next fifty years, and the thought warmed me considerably. My unsorted emotions troubled me greatly, and I hoped for a resolution soon because I did not wish for them to damage my friendship with Poirot.

We said our goodnights in a mood much improved from last night.

 

Mrs. Barker's funeral was held two days later, and Poirot and I had been invited to the reception that followed. Poirot was deep in thought about Mrs. Barker's murder, but I was more concerned with my empty stomach. We had been busy investigating the backgrounds of each suspect and then attending the funeral, and so food had been forgotten in the rush. Poirot seemed to be in a great hurry to discover the murderer; I suspect that he was concerned that another murder was about to take place, although he would give me no hint as to who he suspected or why he thought so.

One of the servants presented a platter of sandwiches before us, and although Poirot refused, I thanked the man and helped myself. Poirot gave me a look of disapproval, but I ignored him and continued to eat.

A short time later we were presented with drinks, and I took one, glad to wash down the somewhat dry sandwiches with some wine. The red wine was bitter, but one does not complain about the refreshments at a funeral reception.

I thought back to the funeral. Sarah Barker and Andrew Collins had said little to each other before and after the service, and I wondered what had caused the rift between them. Did each fear that the other had committed the murder? I thought that they were ill-matched couple, but I disliked seeing the suspicion and fear in their eyes as they looked at each other.

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt a cramp in my stomach. I rubbed at it gently, feeling a bit light-headed. Perhaps it was the alcohol on a nearly empty stomach that was causing it.

Poirot noticed, and said reproachfully, "You eat too fast, _mon ami_."

"Probably," I replied, setting the glass down on a nearby end table. Poirot had been irritable all day, and I was a little tired of being the one on whom Poirot cut his sharp tongue. Of course, that thought gave me a different feeling that was quite the opposite of irritation.

I was beginning to feel flushed, but then I realized that the heat was nothing to do with my amorous feelings for my friend. I closed my eyes, affected by a sudden queasiness.

"Hastings?" Poirot said, his tone turning from reproach to concern.

"Poirot, I-" I tried to speak, but then I felt another cramp in my abdomen, and wrapped my arms around myself, trying in vain to control the pain.

I felt Poirot's hands on my sides, steadying me. He cried out, " _Docteur_ Marshall!"

The doctor picked up the wine glass, and sniff it. He said to Poirot, "Hurry! Take him to the nearest room."

My eyes caught Ms. Barker's, and she looked horrified. The guilt was plainly written across her face. I could not speak, however, because I was swiftly half-dragged, half-carried into the next room.

 

I woke up an hour later, my throat raw and my stomach throbbing with a hollow pain. Poirot was seated next to me, one of his hands holding mine. I felt a minute tremble in his hand, and was touched by this evidence of Poirot's regard for me. I wanted more from him, but I was ever grateful for what I had.

I opened my eyes, and gazed at his face. He looked deep in thought, his eyes trained on my chest. There was worry in his gentle, brown eyes as well as some anger. I admired his strong cheekbones and soft mouth, grateful for this unusual perspective of my friend, being as I was beneath him.

I squeezed his hand gently to let him know that I was awake. His eyes closed briefly, and he sighed. "How are you feeling, _mon ami_?"

"Like I've been scrubbed from the inside out."

Poirot winced. "And," I added, trying to bring a smile to his face, "I'm still hungry."

Poirot shook his head, giving me a reluctant smile. "You think too much with your stomach, Hastings."

Poirot raised his other hand, and for a moment I thought that he was going to touch my cheek. Instead, he rested it on my shoulder. "Fortunately the drug did not stay long in your stomach. I should be thankful that your natural instinct is to eat like the horse."

I laughed softly, then winced as both my throat and my stomach protested. "Not every meal is as sublime as one of yours, Poirot," I said.

Poirot said proudly, " _Naturellement_."

I felt affection swell within me, and for a moment I thought about telling Poirot how deeply I adored him. This was no doubt in response to my brush with death. However, reason took hold once more, and I curbed my desire to bring his hand up and kiss the palm.

"It was Ms. Barker, wasn't it?" I asked, turning my attention to the case.

" _Oui_ ," he replied, his hand tightening upon mine. I rested my other hand over his, rubbing it gently in an attempt to soothe him and secretly thrilled by this chance to touch him without fear of impropriety. "Ms. Barker wished to poison Monsieur Collins."

"Her fiancé?" I said incredulously before starting to cough painfully.

Poirot handed me a glass of water, and helped me to take a few sips of it. The water was welcome, but it hurt as I swallowed. Despite my hunger, I knew that I would not be able to eat much.

Poirot said, "Ms. Barker discovered that her fiancé and her mother were engaged in a love affair."

"Good lord!" I exclaimed, coughing again. "But…"

"Did I not remark, Hastings, that the late Mrs. Barker was an attractive lady?"

"Yes, you did," I replied, feeling a hint of jealousy at his remarks. It was nothing like the jealousy I felt when Poirot said this while the woman was still alive.

"And being widowed, surely it is not without reason to believe that she would court a lover."

"Well, yes, but her own daughter's fiancé? That is deplorable, Poirot."

Poirot nodded, and for a moment I was distracted by his warm, broad fingers gently stroking my sore stomach. After a few minutes of silence, during which I enjoyed Poirot's ministrations a great deal – for his touch was soothing the pain in my stomach – I said, "But she said that she refused him."

"That is what she told us, Hastings, but in fact she had been engaged in a love affair with the young man for many months."

"How did she discover that she was being poisoned?" I asked. "Did she mistakenly accuse him rather than her daughter?"

"I do not know yet, _mon ami_. I have not questioned them."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because you were ill," Poirot said. "I needed to attend to you alone."

I was surprised and deeply thrilled by Poirot's decision to attend to me rather than to the case. Poirot helped me to take a few more sips of water, and I took my time because Poirot's broad fingers felt pleasant against my neck. I sighed softly as he drew his hand away, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck.

 

Poirot wanted me to rest while he concluded the interviews, but I wanted to be present when he confronted Ms. Barker. I disliked being left behind.

We entered the dining room, and Japp rose to greet us. "You gave us quite a scare, Captain," he replied, and I was touched by the concern I saw in his careworn eyes.

"Quite unintentionally," I replied, my voice a bit hoarse.

I seated myself as the officer let him Ms. Barker. She flinched when she saw me, and she said in a rushed manner, "I'm so sorry, Captain Hastings. I didn't mean it for you."

Despite her attempt at poisoning me, I felt sorry for her.

"For whom did you intend the poisoned glass, mademoiselle?" Poirot said, offering her a seat as he asked the question.

She sniffled a bit, and then said, "For Andrew."

"Why were you intending to kill your fiancé, Ms. Barker?" Inspector Japp said.

"He was… having an affair with my mother. When I found out, I confronted him." She took out a handkerchief and swabbed a bit at her eyes as she continue, "He said that she had gone to him and that he had been leading her on. He was the one who came up with the idea of poisoning her in revenge."

"And you were poisoning her gradually?" Japp asked.

Ms. Barker seemed genuinely surprised at this, and said, "No, we weren't."

"Who purchased the foxglove for her?" Poirot asked.

"Andrew did. He said that the police would find it in her possession, and they would think she had killed herself and tried to frame us. They'd think that because she had what he called a persecution complex."

"But then what happened to the plant?" I asked, coughing a bit.

"I took it, captain."

"You?"

She nodded.

Poirot looked gravely at her, and said, "You intended to gain revenge against both of them, did you not?"

Ms. Barker nodded. Her tears began to fall more frequently.

Poirot said, "You hid the plant somewhere not in the apartment, and then lied about it to the police and your fiancé. When the time came, you decided that you would kill him in the same way you killed her."

"But why chose the funeral, Ms. Barker?" Japp asked.

"I feared that Andrew would lose his nerve and tell everyone what had happened."

 

Ms. Barker was led away in handcuffs, followed closely by Andrew Collins. Poirot and I watched them depart, and then Poirot took my elbow and led me to the nearest taxi.

"How did you know that Mrs. Barker was having an affair with Mr. Collins?" I asked him once we had settled ourselves in the taxi.

"Did you not notice, _mon ami_ , that Mrs. Barker was very dramatic in her description of her refusal of the young man's advances?"

I nodded, but said nothing. I did not wish to admit that my assessment of her theatrics was due to my jealousy at her effect on Poirot.

"I felt that she had at least welcomed his advances on a level psychological, even if she had not accepted his advances."

"But how did you find out that she was engaged in an affair with him?"

Poirot smiled, "I asked the butler. He knew everything about the running of the house."

"But not who the murder was," I replied.

Poirot nodded, conceding my point.

"Poor girl," I said, sitting back against the cushion.

Poirot sighed, and nodded.

"Poirot?"

"Yes, Hastings?"

"Why did Mrs. Barker insist that she was being poisoned all along?"

"Perhaps she suspected Mr. Collins, and then her imagination took over. Or Ms. Barker may have been lying."

"Do you think so?"

Poirot shook her head. "I do not believe, my friend, that we shall ever know."

I looked out of the window, and shivered. This had turned into such a sordid case, and I was glad to be done with it. Idly I contemplated a trip to Brighton, just for a few days, to give myself a chance to recover and perhaps regain some of my restraint in so far as Poirot was concerned. I needed some time to myself, and in Brighton I would know no one. It would be just a harmless little holiday.

**Author's Note:**

> End Note: This story was inspired by "The Cornish Mystery," in which the older wife thinks that she's being poisoned by her husband so that he can then marry his nurse. At the inquest after-party, Hastings takes sandwiches from a plate, and my first thought was that it was not a good idea to eat food in a situation where the victim had been poisoned. And thus this story was born.


End file.
